


Psyché

by Akichin



Series: Slow Down [2]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Arthur is so sassy in this, Flashborg - Freeform, Hurt Barry, I'm sorry for this, M/M, OOC, Post-Canon, Sad Ending, Unsure Victor, and Diana is a good friend, complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akichin/pseuds/Akichin
Summary: And that's where Victor moves towards him, the meters that divide them are not many, and he hesitates a moment before speaking, pondering about which are the right words to express what he would like to tell him.«You said it, you don't like keeping secrets.»His own past words become a weapon on Victor's lips; it's a little revenge that he gets, even if the distressed expression painted on Barry's face doesn't gives him any sense of pleasure; it's not grief, what he's feeling, but the glimmer of doubt he sees makes him believe that he's arrived at the solution of the enigma.«Arthur was wrong, it's never easy with you.»--Aka - Love is alive, but time's not right.





	Psyché

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeh, hi, gooday.  
> You should read "Slow Down" before this because it's a sequel and it doesn't make sense if you don't know what happened before.  
> I think this fic is confused, I spent a very hard time to translate some part of this, so I'm sorry if this isn't the best.  
> Just a warning, I think in the last part they are OOC, Idk why.

# Psyché

 

  
Victor observes carefully the different screens in front of him, he inserts coordinates, checks data and locates possible threats around the world.  
It's not a difficult job; the League has just officially formed, the roles aren't been decided well yet in the group, but what's certain is that doing paperwork doesn't annoy him that much.  
He loves action, the fulfilling glory when he helps someone in danger, but also saving his companions and watching their backs are tasks _that shouldn't be underestimated_.  
He learned to use his own power in this way, his body still remains a potential danger, but the situation has improved now that, after the defeat of Steppenwolf, his father has begun to pay more attention to him.  
They spend nights in the lab, _too many nights_ – Victor would like to say -, yet the time spent with him helps to appease the hatred that at first the boy felt towards him.  
They spend many nights together, but now Victor isn't only his experiment, no, he is first and foremost _his son_ ; and he understood it, he knows that Silas is doing everything possible to make up for the mistakes of the past.  
It's an arduous challenge, both of them are proud and say a simple 'sorry' would means to do a difficult compromise.  
For now, Victor doesn't complain, it's a matter of patience, and he's certain that the moment will come when they will learn to have at least an acceptable relationship.  
Because this is the truth, they were never ideal father and son; their relationship has always been complicated, and the only connection between them, other than sharing the same blood, which brings them closer, was Elinore.  
The mother, _his mothe_ r; Victor preserves only happiest memories about her, he forgot the quarrels, the silences or the moments of anger; he misses her and he's aware that for his father it may be difficult to accept being left alone.  
  
Here's what: maybe the pain can unite them again, or at least, it can help them to be a family like any other.  
Victor thinks he never demanded a lot, he must confess that he hadn't been the perfect son for his parents, but he can try – if this is useful to alleviate the suffering — to be a person more aware of his father's needs.  
He must try, given that Silas is always helping him with that part that isn't human anymore; he accepted to save his son like this, without considering him a dangerous monster.  
Now Victors believes it too, he wants to imagine himself with a new force at his disposal, and not as a disadvantage; he was able to give his best with his studies, with the sport and it will be the same now, emerging as a winner like in all the other occasions.  
He also thinks about his allies, about the group: he admires Superman's dedication, the empathy of Diana, Batman's determination and he doesn't forget Arthur's efforts that, despite being a solitary soul, he worked for and with them.  
And then there's Barry, the Flash, their little lightning; they are so different from each other, but Victor recognizes the courage they have in common.  
He doesn't feel pity for him, pity is something that he'd reserve only to those who are incapable of defending themselves; no, Barry showed them all – and himself – to be more of that bizarre guy that Victor saw for the first time there, on one of the roofs of the murky Gotham.  
He never underestimated him, although he doesn't look like a fierce warrior like Curry or invincible as the half-goddess Diana.  
No, Barry Allen is an ordinary guy, as Victor is – _was_ ; it's the first aspect that they share and that, surely, has allowed them to fraternize.  
Victor finds him funny, brilliant and clumsy - in a good way; maybe naive, but cautious in front of danger; he's a great companion, a right equilibrium between pure instinct and dynamic cleverness, someone that you can easily trust.  
And Victor would also add pretty _cut_ -  
  
«Good Morning Victor, I knew I'd find you here.»  
Diana suddenly arrives in the Hall of Justice, her hair worn in a simple ponytail and her body wrapped in a dress, an unfussy, elegant slate-gray one, but that doesn't make her look too professional.  
She's smiling as usual, a sincere and gentle smile, her lips curled to put at ease Victor and a motherly pat on his back to loosen him up.  
She seems unaffected for the contact with the cold metal, she behaves in front of him as if having a cyborg as a friend was a normality; after all, she's still an Amazon – she has her own good reasons to not look astonished.  
«Hi Diana; why, were you looking for me?»  
Victor welcomes her in wary way and weirded out by her words; he thinks about work, probably a sudden meeting, but they are alone and without Batman or Superman – at least, it wouldn't make sense to talk about important matters.  
He trusts Diana, he certainly trusts her; she's the woman of wonders, the heroine that all respect and love, that wouldn't do anything to embarrass a friend.  
He repeats these words a few times, he's trying to convince himself and yes, he knows, it's natural to believe to anything the Princess does or says, but in this case there is something that Victor doesn't understand.  
Her smile, the same, gorgeous smile, seems to hide a curiosity that makes him feel embarrassed, even if he doesn't know yet what she's trying to cover up.  
Victor has nothing to hide, nothing that his fellows cannot know about him and even if there are some secrets that maybe he forgot, he shouldn't be ashamed in front of Diana.  
She doesn't seem a distrustful person, commanded by prejudices or maliciousness, rather, she has always been open to dialogue, far too patient on many occasions, and empathetic, definitely.  
  
«How are things at home?»  
A vague question, though personal; Victor isn't bothered by it if it's Diana asking; basically, he's been honest with her from the beginning and the relationship that has been established between them grants mutual trust.  
«With my father? Everything is going well, or at least, things between us begin to improve. We are perfecting the machine, you know, accessories and other weapons.»  
Victor murmurs about his own body like this; he passes his metal hand on the neck and he only feels a slight tingling, as if he had just been teased with a feather.  
He misses, having senses like a normal person, from grabbing and throwing a ball up to rummaging in his rucksack or in his wardrobe, while touching the soft clothes with his fingers.  
They are usual sensations, gestures that he had never gave much importance to, but now he realizes it was that normality to make him human; it's difficult to return to the past, but he'll get over it, he hasn't any other choice.  
«Weapons aren't enough, Victor.»  
Diana begins to speak, the smile that fades slowly is being replaced with a serious but no severe expression; he finds in her gaze the concern and the affection that she feels for him, though her attention makes him feel – too often – as a child of an unconventional family.  
«It's right to train and be ready to fight, always. But we have to care of what we don't see with our eyes too, _psyché_ , as we Amazons call it.»  
Victor looks interested, he sees her bringing her own hands near to her chest and she holds back a sigh, as if she wants to forget painful memories of her native land.  
_Psyché_ – It's a word that appeals Victor, a word that contains in its letters a great significance; philosophy, this is the first thing he thinks of, sages of ancient Greece and all that world that students finds in school books, but that Diana embodied it now in that little and wistful smile on her face.  
«Let me guess, Socrates?»  
He asks her, deciding to stop with his work for now; he only focuses on Diana's words, on her way to tell a story and the enthusiasm that escapes from her lips, infecting even someone as quiet as Victor.  
The conversation becomes more pleasant, he learns terms that he met only vaguely in some books in college, but explained by Diana, even philosophy becomes a subject to understand and apply everyday.  
Not just random and vague thoughts, no, life lessons; recommendations that Victor would never given importance to before when, conquered by his own ego, he was concentrated only on ephemeral sports' victories.  
It's a deeper path, the one that Diana tries to teach him, and no word seems obvious.  
«Socrates said it was crucial to know ourselves, for him the unhappiness or joy depend not by what others do, but from what we have here, within ourselves.»  
The hand of the Princess indicates him, that light reflected on her olive skin, the same light that, in a strange way, should represent what is left of his heart – at least theoretically.  
  
«I don't want to sound rude, Socrates seems a wise guy, but you came here really to talk only about philosophy? Your company is enjoyable, definitely better than endure the sarcasm of the _little merman_ , but-»  
Diana dedicated him a reproachful look, a wry smile that makes her face more relaxed, even if that expression doesn't reassures Victor who, instead, begins to wonder if there's something they must urgently speak about.  
They remain silent for long moments, Diana continues to seem mysterious and only after, walking nervously into the room, she decides to speak of the matter so secretive.  
«I was wondering if you had a fight with Barry, he seems very distracted lately.»  
Victor wrinkles his forehead, a puzzled expression occupies his face and he can only rethink about the last time he met the speedster; they hadn't time to talk a lot, when they were both in the Hall with the others, but it's not been a long time since Barry paid him a visit at his apartment.  
Two or more weeks? He doesn't remember, to be honest, but on that occasion Barry looked the same guy as always; he's distracted by nature, clumsy with anyone in any situation and yes, Victor is sure, he was the same Barry of the days before.  
«Maybe it's the college or his father; even if he rejects that kind of help, Bruce wouldn't have trouble to pay his tuition.»  
He's not to blame, even for Victor it would be complicated to take money from someone else; being independent, living alone, is something that Barry has done for many years and he should be proud of himself, though asking for help doesn't mean being weak.  
Victor thinks back to what Barry told him about his past, losing his family at that age – is something that Victor wouldn't wish on anyone, yet Barry never showed signs of anxiety for his future openly, at least not in front of the League.  
«No, it's not a money issue, it's about other things..»  
_«_ _Other things?_ Could there really be other things? I don't want to say that his life is miserable, but having the father in jail and live day by day it's already a good reason to be distracted.»  
Diana isn't convinced by his words, Victor understands it from her simple nod; the Princess's frowning, and sighs undecided about which is the right conclusion.  
«Are you sure you haven't quarrelled with him?»  
Victor shrugs, he thinks vaguely to what they said to each other during the previous weeks and remembers nothing of malignant or superficial; nothing that could offend or instigating him, only conversations, conversations between friends.  
«I would remember if I said something wrong. Actually we don't talk a lot when we're here, I'm always busy and he-»  
_And him?_  
Victor was so busy with his own duties that he doesn't exactly know how Barry spends his time in the Hall of Justice; he doesn't think that he spend a lot of time there in general, Central City is his hometown, and Victor is glad for him, having a regular life is what all of them would like to have.  
«Busy, right, you are; now I understand, remember what I said. _Psyché_ is important, you should get away from here a bit.»  
It's the last thing that Diana told him before she left; shifty, enigmatic words and then nothing, silence returned to the Hall and Victor feels confused, even if there is no more Diana there, smiling at him to cheer him up.  
_«Psyché.»_  
He murmurs, starting to type on his keyboard convulsively; Google it's the only friend he has now.  
 

* * *

  
«You guys should try the pastries of a store that has just opened in Central City, I've never eaten anything tastier.»  
Barry runs through the open door of the Hall shouting while, behind, as usual, bluish lightnings chase him, pointing out his path.  
«You said the same exact thing a week ago; you are already bored by the _best Jerk Chicken ever_?»  
Arthur appears annoyed at his back, his wet hair falls on his shoulders and probably, or at least Barry assumes, he's just awakened by one of his long rest passed in one of the bathrooms of the Wayne Manor.  
Barry looks at him more than he should, as he tries to talk between bites; his eyes glide on the other's uncovered abs and he risk to choke, realizing that Arthur is wearing only a towel – a _pink_ towel, kind of embarrassing.  
«You could, you know – look for, _uh_ -»  
«For God's sake, Arthur, ask Alfred some clothes to put on.»  
Bat- _Bruce_ comes to Barry's rescue, he closes the door behind him and watches the half-Atlantean with an expression between amused and horrified, as if he were troubled by the behaviour too much unusual of his guest.  
Barry still has to get used to the idea of being officially a member of the Justice League; he's weirded out by the situation, from the everyday life rhythm that now exists between them, they are a sort of family, though the only one that behaves like a responsible adult is probably Alfred.  
  
«Little thunder, how's life? Still obsessed with those cartoons for children?»  
Barry feels Arthur's damp hand on his shoulder, a chill runs through his back and he remains motionless, as if the other had just frozen him with his touch.  
It's a feeling that pinch his skin, he would really like to ask him to get off, but the only sound that escapes from his lips is a shy and indecipherable squeak.  
«It's science-fiction and not a cartoon for children.»  
«If you say so.»  
Arthur answers quickly, he finally moves away and disappears from the Hall like a clown fish among the tentacles of an anemone.  
At that point, Barry breathes, returning peacefully to the last pastry remained in his hand: a cream-filled cannolo, a delight for many, although for the poor guy it isn't enough to satiate himself completely; he's already thinking about dinner, he's certain that Alfred will invite everyone to eat together and Barry hopes – with all his strength – because the butler's cuisine is really superb.  
  
«How are things in Central City, everything under control?»  
The gruff voice of Bruce awakens him from his thoughts and turns to face him, nodding a grin to thank him for the attention; he understood Bruce's personality by now, he knows that the other is not a man very accustomed to converse, it's just a cover – be a billionaire surrounded by beautiful women – and Barry, if he had to choose, would prefer the blunt and wistful Wayne rather than a fake version of him.  
«Yes, it's a quiet period; and I really wanted to thank you for, you know, the help you gave me with that job.»  
Bruce appears indifferent to his gratitude, he considers it a small gesture, a help among friends is natural, especially since he was young as Barry too, and apart from his beloved solitude, Alfred's presence was a fundamental constant in his life.  
«I did only the minimum, Clark calls it teamwork.»  
Barry smiles amused by that comment; a part of him can see beyond the mask of serious Batman and, although not many people say it, he believes that Bruce isn't so abrupt like he seems.  
He's a man of few words, pragmatic and with a biting sarcasm, but Barry is fond of him, although conversations between them -at least for now- haven't never been too personal; he trusts him, he believes that there is no one better than Batman when talking about secrets, but Bruce isn't Diana and express any kind of emotion in his company is complicated.  
Barry would feel only more stupid, talking about his life with him, and he knows himself pretty well, he knows that he would probably explain details that it would be better not to reveal.  
  
«I'm back, I'm not interrupting anything, right? Not that I give a damn.»  
From the door appears the noisy Arthur, this time covered by the first comfortable clothes that Alfred has found for him; Barry still has to get used to seeing him like that, like a normal person and not a half-Atlantean with his glittering armour.  
The personality is still the same, he finds him funny, no hard feelings, but occasionally things between them simply don't work; _they are opposites_ , Arthur reminds him of the many popular kids met at school, always bumptious and glib.  
Barry can't never stand them, though Curry has proved to be much more than his ego; he's currently fighting his own battles, inner issues that people like Barry may not understand, but he appreciates his effort of don't treat him always as the loser of the group.  
«Hey, bat.»  
Arthur starts with Bruce, a violent blow on his shoulder and a sarcastic smile on his face; however, his gaze alights on Barry and he simply observes him, trying to figure out what he's thinking now.  
«How's your Tin boyfriend?»  
He asks all of a sudden, Bruce rolls his eyes, not amazed by those words as if he, indeed, knew Arthur would ask it sooner or later, making the previous conversation useless.  
«It's not tin, it's too light for his body.»  
Barry answers without understanding the full meaning of his question; he was already thinking about something else, when Arthur entered the Hall, and his attention now is only focused on Bruce's reaction and the indecipherable final word exclaimed by the King of the seas.  
«The Princess was right, it must be her female sixth sense; at least that's something, I thought you'd gone on to hovering around him like a 14-year-old girl.»  
An astonished expression appears on Arthur's face while he's talking and Barry can only look at him confused, he still doesn't understand what he's referring to, though a second it's enough to start to blush.  
«Wait, me and Victor; no, no, _him and me are not what you think_.»  
He stutters repeating the name of the other with little conviction; he is a good liar – if necessary- but the accomplice look that Bruce and Arthur share makes him only more nervous.  
He's facing one of the best detective in the world, Batman has no superpowers, but beat him with cunning it'd be crazy, even for an instinctive guy like Barry.  
Still, he admitting the truth isn't easy; he considers himself unlucky, for many different reasons, and one of them is having to talk to these two.  
Diana is perfect with this kind of things; no offence, but a confront on the subject with the cynical Bruce and ungraceful Arthur isn't a possibility that can help him.  
So, many questions occupy his head and it's complicated to find an answer without losing against panic; he now believes to have urgently need of other sugars, but escape to go to Central City would not be the best way to resolve the problem.  
  
«Look, I don't-I have to eat something, please.»  
Bad sign, he only looks at Bruce and shortly afterwards regrets it because, as usual, the billionaire decides to flee from the crime scene with a smart, but simple excuse.  
«I can ask to Alfred, I'll be right back.»  
_Not with him, not alone with Arthur, Bruce, hey?_  
No, Barry realizes that he hadn't opened his mouth, the words remain a vague thought in his head and the only sound that brings him back to reality is the door that closes, leaving him to the fierce interrogation of Arthur Curry.  
«I knew you were an idiot, but not _such_ an idiot.»  
He starts to talk to him, sitting careless on a desk, Barry would like to warn him that that is Victor's area, but silence is the only weapon that he has left and, in fact, not mentioning the other guy is the smartest choice he can do now.  
«Do you think someone in the team would give a damn about whom you'd like to sleep with? Yes, I don't know how it works between you two, but this is a detail.»  
_He really said it, he said it._  
Barry doesn't look away from him, Arthur dedicates to him a sarcastic smile, but he blushes in response, without knowing what to say at this point.  
He could apologize and leave once and for all, but going home without saying goodbye to Alfred makes him feel guilty; meeting the butler, however, means to find Bruce again and at the moment he would like to avoid an embarrassing and not-very-helpful bat.  
«It's not like that, we're not, uhm.»  
He holds his breath, he looks down for a brief moment and tries to concentrate – as if he were preparing for a battle - while ignoring the bored expression of Arthur.  
«OK, thank you for your support and understanding, but Victor is not- _he doesn't know anything._ _»_  
The anxiety begins to grow, it creeps inside him as some sort of poison that will kill him slowly; he feel the need to run, he doesn't know to which destination, but hiding somewhere, anywhere in the world, would be more pleasant than to think for even a moment about Victor.  
A matter of probability – or for the superstitious persons, _fortune_ – he hasn't so much chances if he ever decides to confess his feelings to the latter; he can take for sure that Victor isn't involved with anyone right now, but the rest is just mystery.  
He's even doubtful about their friendship, at times he feels that Victor doesn't hate him only because they are comrade in arms, nothing else; asking for more, therefore, it would be a paradox.  
Another mistake to add to the list of Barry Allen's failures.  
  
«So what? He's maybe a robot, but he's not a fucking telepath; just tell him.»  
«Easy for you to say, everyone would like you.»  
Barry responds fastly, upset, irritated by the simply words of the other; Arthur is different from him, the way he acts and his presence; he attracts attention easily, for better or for worse, while Barry is a disaster in everything that involves other people.  
The best tip he received was to be himself always, uninfluenced by circumstances or by other people's opinions, but although they are wise words, Barry doesn't consider himself an acceptable person – according to different points to view.  
Long-winded, anxious and sometimes far too intrusive; he knows his own limits, that is why Arthur's simplicity only worsens the situation.  
«Trust me, a lot of people don't like me. And you know what I do in these cases?»  
A smile, as unusual as friendly, appears on his face; it's sincere, Barry understands it because he knows how Arthur jokes are and, this time, the expression painted on his face is honest and – he'd dares – almost _brotherly._  
«I simply don't care, I don't change for others; hence, you should do the same. The tin guy- _Victor_ , Victor seems a nice guy and, even if he turns you down, I don't think he would hate you for a reason so superficial.»  
Barry's eyes light up, he believes this is the first time that Arthur dedicates a compliment, albeit trivial, to Victor; this reassures him, not that the situation is different now that the Atlantean revealed his little trick, but at least, Barry knows where to start now.  
« I didn't think I was going to say this, but hey, thanks man.»  
He reaches out his hand towards him, a clenched fist - his habitual fist bump - but then again he doesn't receive anything in return, remaining motionless, and not a little embarrassed in front of a rather dazed Arthur.  
_Come on, why does everyone in this team hate greetings?_  
«First, you and I are not friends.»  
_Not yet Arthur, not yet._  
«And just let me tell you, you have awful tastes.»  
And with that he goes; when he leaves the room he seems even faster than the speedster and for once, _not the first_ , it's Barry to remain abandoned to himself.  
 

* * *  
 

_Madness, pure madness._  
Adrenaline doesn't runs in his body anymore since he had his accident, yet, he feels the same sensation of a pre-game, a last-minute touchdown or a malicious exchange of looks with a girl.  
Victor is sure, his body – how it's now – cannot be crossed by adrenaline, but he feels like a little kid and a bit rebellious when, landing abruptly to the ground, he realizes that he's finally arrived in Central City.  
An abandoned building occupies his eyesight, an old fence hinders momentarily his path, but he gets rid of it bending the wire mesh as needed, although he can only wonder how Barry can pass through a breach so small  
He sighs slow, when his artificial fingers touch the door that separates him from the house; he's still unsure, he doesn't believe that moved away from his apartment to coming here was the best idea, a part of him feels really an intruder and he wonders whether it's the same feeling that Barry felt that evening, weeks ago, when he was waiting for him outside his window.  
There is something strange, a sense of anticipation that hovers in the air, that Victor still can't decipher; he pondered for a whole night – one of the few spent in his room, not in the laboratory – and he came to the conclusion that, after opening the door, the relationship with Barry will be forced to change, one way or another.  
He didn't talk to him for days, not a wanted silent, but both were busy with something, even with the smallest commitment probably, and Victor realized that when even his father's presence has become enjoyable.  
A distraction, a diversion to forget the strange conversation with Diana, even if the words of the amazon continued to picked him at night when a normal person should sleep.  
Victor has pondered for so long on the issue that he might went crazy; he analysed all the hypotheses, from the simplest to the most complex, and came to the conclusion that nothing strange must have happened between them.  
_Barry is tired_ – it's the first excuse that he found for him, plausible, but banal; an excuse that doesn't involve finding answers to tough questions, a way to justify himself and not to accept some of the blame on the matter.  
_Barry is tired, maybe he is, but not because of me_ – it was the next step; Victor lifts abstractly his hands in surrender, like the most careless coward, although inside him, hidden away in metal, wires and scattered data, a little voice tells him that he is guilty.  
He's at least a complicit, even in a small part, of that fatigue that Barry doesn't express, maybe for pride, although the members of the Justice League aren't blind and they recognize when the speedster isn't at the top of his form.  
  
«No turning back, come on.»  
He murmurs, a whisper that is lost shortly after, replaced by a silence almost solemn, as if he were waiting for a sentence of life or death; he doesn't fear Barry's judgment, he's certain that the boy will welcome him shortly with one of his smiles, perhaps one more forced than usual, but Victor will appreciate it anyway because, he doesn't understand why, seeing Barry happy is one of the few things that makes him feel an ordinary boy, at least for a while.  
So, he knocks on the door, the metallic knuckles reproduce a sound distorted, almost annoying, even if it's enough to draw the attention of the host who, in a short second, is already there for him, without even asking who the mysterious guest is before opening the door.  
«Hi Barry.»  
Disinterested, his tone of voice makes him seem bored, disappointed for been there, as if someone had forced him to leave the four familiar walls of his house; it's not the truth, but Victor is not a genius of _appearances_ , and the only thing he can do is show an expression that makes him look normal, not as a person without a soul to wander around Central City.  
«Umh, hello, hey, what brings you here?»  
A flash of repentance in his dark eyes, light up with shame, almost as if he were scold himself; Barry didn't want to be so direct, Victor understands it from his face, or maybe it's just an impression which makes his opinion biased.  
He looks at him, before he speaks again; he looks at him so long that he feels almost embarrassed, but for days, if not weeks – he didn't meet his gaze and what he sees in him now is a union of many different sensations, uncontrolled and impetuous.  
His cheeks are flushed, that slight crimson red that revives his skin, which makes him look vulnerable, even though Victor doesn't consider it a weakness, rather, he envies this part of him because he believes that he had never met another young boy like him, _as human as Barry._  
And he wonders again whether it's right to be here without notice; Allen seems confused, while waiting for his response, he sees him biting the inside of his cheek, a tic to restrain the nervousness, although under the watchful eyes of Victor, is nothing but an indirect way to reveal his anxiety.  
«It's a “you shouldn't be here” or more a “what a surprise, come in”?»  
A wry smile pinches his lips, he snorts to restrain a laugh, but Barry's reaction is too much, even for a serious guy like him, and he doesn't retain the fun to see him blush even more.  
«No, there are no problems; it's just that my house, you know, I think I left _a mess_ around.»  
He sees him move to let him enter, still fearful, but Victor doesn't stop and at a slow pace – _painfully slow_ – he crosses the threshold, invaded by a subtle scent that tickles his naris.  
It's a strange sensation, he's never really focused on his sense of smell after the incident, but now he almost feels human again and it's the loveliest thing he's felt since he returned to life.  
A fruity scent, fresh orange – and perhaps - a hint of blueberry, and the mere thought is enough to remind him of the sweets he was used to ate when he was little; his life was different back then, but it's still an overwhelming emotion.  
A subtle, imperceptible smile forms on his lips and he realizes only later, while a song in a language he doesn't know resonates in the room, that Barry is still watching him.  
He turns to him at a particular time, a warm flame at his side lights up part of his face and seems to overshadow everything else, although, actually, there aren't many other sources of light in the room.  
_«Mandarin Cranberry.»_  
Barry points the candle, almost whispering, as if there's something to be ashamed; Victor merely nods, still distracted by the situation and only the sound of the door that closes brings him back to reality, remembering the nervousness that, unfortunately, didn't remain outside the shelter.  
  
«I go – I'm going to turn the music off.»  
Barry crosses the room at a normal speed, he respects the silly rule to not go fast in circumstances that don't require it and Victor follows him with his eyes; cautious, he glimpses in one of the screens a group of girls who are dancing, but they disappear shortly after giving way to a deep black colour.  
On the way back, Barry grabs a pack of marshmallow – strictly kosher – abandoned on one of the armchairs and stops right there, speaking only when Victor decides to come closer, still somewhat wary.  
«You can sit there.»  
He indicates the only space left free, his second favourite chair, and Victor falls on it as if he were standing all day for too long even if, actually, he has spent almost the entire day under observation with his father.  
Nothing too fun, but the day had already taken a dull turn and end it with a potential quarrel is a smart choice, artistic, at least.  
«It's not so much messy, my room is worse, trust me.»  
It's the first thing he says, he wants to break the silence at all costs and this is only a half truth: his room isn't really so untidy, but it's a way of saying that Barry's House isn't all bad.  
He imagined it worse, darker and perhaps even sad, but he finds something of the boy in every corner and it's cosy, although he doesn't see things too much persona around.  
Computers, consoles, tools of various kinds; some packs of noodles, but nothing that makes him a different person.  
Then there's _the armour_ , with its gleaming red, it occupies a space of the room as everything else, but it's what draws more Victor's attention.  
At times he forgets Barry's powers, he thinks of him as any student, but then remembers what they spent together, the hard struggle and the Hall of Justice.  
The same hall in which they avoid each other for days, not a look or a small conversation; some occasional word, no more than a greeting in the morning or a farewell at the end of the day.  
And Victor wonders how it's possible that they are at this point, he still doesn't get it, even if to decide to show up at his house should dissolve – finally – the mysterious question.  
«Another room full of trophies, I guess.»  
There's miserable sarcasm in the words just spoken by Barry; a wry smile is there, on his face, and Victor looks at him long enough to glimpse a hostility that has never recognized in his eyes.  
It's natural, the coolness between them, after several days of distance, even though Victor is unable and unwilling to be angry at him; he repeats that there's not a good reason and the friendship that binds him to Barry is the only thing that, in his life, makes him recall the times when he was a boy and not a bloody cyborg.  
  
«Junk, they are useless now.»  
He exclaims in response, even if he can't sit still anymore and is forced to rise, wandering into the room without a special interest.  
He only focuses for a moment on the flame near the entrance that oscillates slowly, the candle brightens the atmosphere, distracting him even from the moves behind him.  
«I was talking in envy, you shouldn't throw them.»  
When he turns, Barry isn't too far from him, the last marshmallow disappears into his mouth and Victor shakes his head, smiling, because at times he can only see him as a child.  
He amazes him, that side of him, since locked in his mind remains the seriousness of Barry's eyes when he spoke of his mother – during that famous night – and seeing him so carefree causes in him a sense of inexplicable melancholy.  
  
  
He tries to understand his pain, the loneliness that Barry maybe had tried and he believes he has finally realized his mistake: he never paid real attention to Barry's life, not _with_ him, and the only time he had sought reassurance, Victor didn't heard him enough, or at least, not as much as he needed.  
«I never asked what your mother's name was.»  
A sudden demand makes the air heavy, the sweet smell of orange disappears and in the room, now completely dark, blue lightning only create a glow of light around them.  
Still silence, Victor knows that Barry is no longer in front of him, he doesn't perceive his breathing and it's precisely when he tries to locate him that the light returns.  
The peaceful candle goes out, now above his head light-bulbs are shining and the room appears to be smaller than he had imagined before.  
«You said you read my file.»  
Barry's voice trembles a little; Victor's choice isn't honest, but he uses the machine part to analyse his system and he feels how his heart is beating fast at this very moment.  
«Yes, it's true, but I want to hear you talking about her.»  
Barry seems perplexed, he's entitled to be, but the wary hospitality makes Victor suspicious every minute spent in the building; he admits to being irritated by his behaviour, but at this point, he's too intrigued to find out what he owes such prudence.  
«Her name was Nora, but it doesn't make any difference knowing it, right?»  
Victor holds a rude _Yes_ , after hearing it; he would like to tell him that knowing each other better would benefit the team, but it would be a lie to which not even Barry would believe.  
Knowing his past is no longer a matter of trust, it's just personal interest, even though Victor is no longer certain that the other consider him as his friend.  
  
And he concludes that Diana must be right, the change isn't just about the school or his father.  
There is something different, _more_ , a secret, he believes, that goes beyond their families, the Justice League and any words exchanged between them shortly before.  
A question that Victor doesn't understand and fears that the fault is for the machine part of him, he wants it to be so; he lost a certain tone of empathy since his death, and it's easier to accept that lack, now that part of him is completely artificial.  
«Vic, I'm not annoyed by having you here, but I think – I don't want to discuss this now; perhaps not now, never, I think?»  
He reads weariness in his eyes, a veiled embarrassment that brings him back to his tic -a small, but not invisible bite in the inside of his cheek – and an expression that could warm Victor's heart, if he still had one.  
And that's where Victor moves towards him, the meters that divide them are not many, and he hesitates a moment before speaking, pondering about what are the right words to express what he would like to tell him.  
«You said it, _you don't like keeping secrets._ _»_  
His own past words become a weapon on Victor's lips; it's a little revenge that he gets, even if the distressed expression painted on Barry's face doesn't gives him any sense of pleasure; it's not grief, what he's feeling, but the glimmer of doubt he sees makes him believe that he arrived at the solution of the enigma.  
«Arthur was wrong, it's _never_ easy with you.»  
The words are followed by a soft touch, a shy caress of a hand along that strip of skin which makes Victor a bit human  
And Victor feels, perceives the warmth of Barry's fingers, the fingertips against his cheek and their bodies that are closer, so much that he can recognize the rhythm of the other's heart.  
Their gaze do not meet, Barry's pupils disappear behind the eyelids and his irregular breathing breaks against Victor's face, a warm and terribly human feeling.  
It's _terribly human_ , Barry's gesture: a kiss, in its simplest form, lips that touch other, uncertain, trembling and inexperienced.  
His face is so close that he can sees the small details of it: moles dappling his diaphanous skin , the strands of unruly hair falling across his forehead and long, curved eyelashes, that Victor had never paid attention to, when he was wearing his armour.  
And nobody moves; he recognizes a sweet taste on his lips, foolishly thinks that he hates marshmallows, sugar that it seems Barry needs so much.  
It's a moment, maybe one more, but it's that feeling that remains when they split; the rest is just a set of confused emotions, a sense of surprise, hidden deep in Victor's soul, but also guilt, and finally, realization, because he knew it, when the door was opened, everything changed.  
  
«I-»«I didn't think that-»  
Their voices overlap, one look of understanding is shared in this moment, but both realize what it means, almost no need to add other unnecessary words.  
«Barry, I can't, _not like this_ -»  
«I know, I won't pretend anything.»  
His response seems sincere, but Victor notes the grain of disappointment that mottle his eyes and a part of him -maybe a fragment of the former Victor - would like to tell him that he's sorry, but he can't try anything like this, not now, not in his situation.  
«I have to work, I think I need to work on my armour now, bye Vic.»  
Barry closed his eyes and remains motionless, without seeing him go away, without looking back one last time when he tighten the door handle with his fingers.  
And Victor leaves him in silence, even if his mind is crossed by a single, silly thought.  
 

_Machines haven't a psyché, they haven't any feeling._  
_I'm not a machine._  
Right?

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr - @awesomeakimi  
> [Italian vrs.](https://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3735152) (It's for you, Lacacciatrice haha)
> 
> Psyché is a greek word and it means soul; it's a philosophical concept that I really shortly described in the fic, but if you are interest you should check the Wiki page about it.  
> I'm sorry for the ending, it's a bit rushed, but I like it and I didn't find another way to write the scene.  
> I promise that my next Flashborg's fic will be 100% fluff and Victor and Barry will have the happiness they deserve.  
> Bye.


End file.
